Within My World
by Vytina
Summary: Within his world — despite the chains her world had tried to bind her with — she would belong to him. Forever.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Inspired by the song "Within My World", from the West End musical "Dracula", this is a glimpse into a love that serves as a testimony to the words of Friedrich Nietzche:**

"**There is always some madness in love. But there is always some reason in madness."**

**Title: Within My World**

**Summary: Within his world—despite the chains her world had tried to bind her with—she would belong to him. Forever.**

**Characters/Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow x OC**

**Rating: M for sexual content**

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Within My World

Mindless cheers and exclamations. Drunken slurs. Wolfish yelps and cries of perverse pleasure and wanton lust. Crowds gathering, crushing bodies together. Man smothering woman in drunken longing. Women slithering, sliding all over each other to satisfy the devolved sexual urgings of their male partners.

There truly were things that time did not change.

Including the raging disgust he felt, observing this mess before him. Once, he'd witnessed it in civilian clothes, under a civilian name and title. Once, he had observed for no real purpose but that of obligation. One cannot so easily ignore what is thrust and thrown before your eyes. Blink, blink, and move on. That is how you survive. And back then, it was a test of survival. To operate without too much interference from simple-minded colleagues and incompetent students. To live day to day under the guise of _normal_…of _**sane**_.

But he had to suffer that indignity no longer.

He was free.

He was free to embrace the disgust, the loathing he felt for these young minds, wasted on pleasurable sins of the flesh. He was free to revel in the scorn he felt for their childish antics—these beings who were intended to go on to be fine, upstanding members of the community, of the city.

But more importantly, he was free to be consumed by the _rage_ he felt. The rage, the hatred, the _**fury**_ he felt for these _weak_, _**small**_ people…those who had done him injury—physical or otherwise, it did not matter. Students or faculty, they were all the same to him. They had scorned him, humiliated him and ultimately exiled him.

They had thought him weak and pathetic…insignificant.

They would learn. He was still the teacher and they were still the students and they _would learn_.

But later…not now.

Right now…he was after something _much_ better…something much more _important_.

He stepped over concrete, rock, pebble, and plant, moving along the shadows as though he belonged with them. As though he were one with them. And they were kind—kind as humankind was not—wrapping around his form, permitting him to slide across walls, around corners, and finally through a door.

He did not need maps or compasses or directions. The shadows, the darkness were his allies. All he had to do was seek their assistance.

All he must do was ask them to find _her_.

And they would.

And they did.

There she was, standing so utterly still beside the window. Black stain of hair streaking across the pale canvas of flesh; the night's cold breath exhaling against her gown of ebony silk, rippling it across her limbs—limbs sculpted with the vitality of ice. Her profile was intended to be cold, emotionless and blank. It served to encourage those rumors surrounding her name among her peers…whispered tales that she had no heart.

Oh, but she had a heart. She could not deny it…hide it from him—not he who knew her so well…who knew her beauty.

He who knew her true _darkness_. Yes…it was within that darkness that her _true_ beauty laid.

It was time to unveil her…completely.

It was time to teach her once again. Teach her the true beauty that lingered within the darkness.

The shadows aided his quest, encouraging and supportive as he slipped closer to her on phantom feet. The distance between them swiftly decreased…each step toward her calculating and deliberate. He was so close…so very close…

His foot pressed down to the floor, and the boards responded with a loud _creak_.

Her agile reflexes were exquisite to behold. Truly, he regretted that he could not watch longer, perhaps even be the recipient of her swift reaction to an uninvited presence.

Alas…

His hand was faster, withdrawing the cloth he had prepared and stored away long before entering the campus grounds. With the speed and grace of a viper, his clawed hand pressed the fabric securely over her mouth and nose. She fought him—naturally, she would. How could he expect anything different? She was not submissive. She was not weak. And more importantly, she was not _afraid_.

In any other human being, he would be infuriated. In her…it was merely exciting.

"Fight me all this night, pretty little flower…" he breathed, burlap rubbing against her cheek, his breath a cold hiss against her skin, "You'll not escape me now."

Perhaps she recognized his voice in those brief, fleeting seconds before the drug took its toll. He thought, perhaps, he could see a glimmer of understanding within the fogged irises, clouded and distorted by the chloroform. Perhaps she understood, for a ghost of a moment, that her Master had found her. Perhaps she understood the boundaries of society and sanity could not bar him from reaching her.

He would find out soon enough.

Her body did not slump or collapse, like some inebriated co-ed. No…not her. She was a flower, and she fell as a flower would—wilting slowly into his waiting arms. Vaguely, inanely, he found himself wondering if she could recall how it felt to be in these arms, for she had let herself be wrapped in their embrace once before. But in those days, it had been arms of naked skin or thin, simple cotton.

No longer.

He slid one arm around her shoulder blades, the other bending through the loop of her legs. She was utterly weightless in his hold, limp and malleable from the drug. Her head lolled slowly from side to side, hair whispering against the burlap that clothed him.

A cold smile on his lips, he made his exit, fading into the darkness with his prize in hold. She had no place in this world—this filthy realm of hypocrisy and sanity. But she would always have a worthy place within the darkness.

It was time for her to know his world…and what awaited her within it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The last chapter in this short journey. Inspired by not only "Within My World", but also the song "The Mist" from Frank Wildhorn's musical "Dracula". Also, there is some "Phantom of the Opera" mixed in here. A melting pot of inspiration, all of it from songs that embody the madness of this love.**

"**There is always some madness in love. But there is always some reason in madness."**

**Title: Within My World**

**Summary: Within his world—despite the chains her world had tried to bind her with—she would belong to him. Forever.**

**Characters/Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow x OC**

**Rating: M for sexual content**

* * *

Within My World

Red.

A sea—or was it just oblivion—of red. Red mist…swirling quietly, brushing against her skin—the mere suggestion of it upon her body singed the very fibers of her being—winding through the air above her, obscuring a view of anything else—but did anything else matter?—slithering across her body, winding serpents of crimson fog—her limbs twitched slightly, longing to feel that touch which was insignificantly light upon her flesh.

The fingers of one hand curled in on each other, trying to feel her surroundings, trying to comprehend where she was. Apart from the thin texture of cotton sheets—was she on a bed?—she could feel nothing.

But there was something outside…a sound, high in pitch and shrill in nature—howling? Dogs…yes, there were dogs nearby, sending their sharp cries up to the heavens.

Something else interrupted their lonely melody…the wind was whistling. Whistling as they moved through…trees? Branches and leaves, or was it stalks of some kind of plant…?

"H…help…"

Her voice was heavy…heavy in her throat as her words were upon her tongue. And yet, the words could not be heavy…they just felt…_wrong_. They didn't belong in her mouth…they felt alien and foreign…as though she was not meant to call out for help…she was not to alert any to her presence here…

She was to remain here.

She _belonged_ here.

"Ahh…my sweet flower awakens."

A shape slowly emerged from the crimson clouds…a figure with a human shape, yet he could not _be_ human. Not this creature clothed in rags—brown as the earth around them, beneath them—red as blood, as the fog swirling around them—with a face hidden from all expression, save for a twisted smile formed from a gaping hole in the burlap covering his head…and his eyes. Black…and smoldering with a pleasure as twisted as his smile.

"You finally came back to me, little one." He whispered with a voice that rasped over her ears, making her shiver. "Finally…after such a bitter parting. But you remember that day all too well, do you not?"

Her lips were open, but only soft, whimpering sounds escaped her throat. His eyes closed for a fleeting moment, releasing a quiet hiss of a sigh. "Sweet music…" he whispered. Three clawed fingers of burlap brushed over her cheeks—almost tenderly. Her entire body convulsed as if electrified, head turning into his touch.

"I've been waiting for you, Iris." He murmured, running a finger lazily over trembling veins, swollen against the stark white of her neck. "And you've been avoiding me, my willful one. Why would you break my heart with such cold disobedience?"

Her body quivered upon the mattress. The straw that was tucked loosely within cotton wrappings had long since worn through its constraints and reacted to such movement by scratching her flesh. Another whimper escaped as thin red marks appeared on her arms and back.

He leaned over her, obscuring the thin lights from boring through the mist and breaking the spell. Her eyes were entrancing—pupils dilated to black pools, one rimmed with blue, the other with gold. Blank at first, yet emotions were firing throughout their deepest depths. Confused emotions…slurred together until only one was apparent.

_Desire_.

The point of his thumb ran over her lips. They opened and closed mutely, enticing further pleasure within him. She could not speak. She needed _him_ to speak for her, to coax out that which she desired from him.

She needed him.

With cold, calm deliberation, he circled around her, looming like a carnivorous bird of prey. His eyes gleamed red, primitive and lusting for the vision below him. The mist swirled so calmly around her, highlighting every curve, every contour, every crevice of her body.

Suddenly, she shrieked, head twisting fiercely into the covers. He felt, though he would never admit it to himself, a brief passing of shock. This was a strong reaction, most assuredly, but more importantly, it was a reaction of _fear_.

His eyes lifted to the ceiling. There he discovered the source of her unexpected terror—a black spider skittering along the glossed strands of its web. It was not particularly impressive in size—perhaps a bit larger than a small screw. But to her distorted perception, it could easily present itself as a genuine threat.

He was the only one allowed to frighten her. No other.

His fingers reached up, wrapping around the affronting creature and crushing the life from its fragile body. His other hand drifted down to her face, brushing a few stray curls aside, admiring how they streaked across her skin, soaked through with the sweat glossing over her body.

"Open your eyes, Iris." He breathed, "Look at me."

Her eyes opened with flattering obedience. Once again, he watched her lips open, only this time, words were spoken.

"Scarecrow…" she whispered. For once, her eyes shifted to lock onto his face. There was no wavering now…no hesitation or confusion. She knew what she needed. She knew what she wanted.

Which was why he did not protest when her fingers latched to his mask and jerked it away from his face.

"Scarecrow…Scarecrow…"

His lips descended to hers, hands clutching at her body with curled fingers that lifted dark bruises on her flesh. She barely winced, only released a guttural moan that echoed within his mouth. Those long, thin fingers dug into his rags. The nails scratched and wore at the seams, opening thin tears upon the blurred sea of red and brown. It took mere seconds for her to wear down into his flesh…clawing at his skin. He hissed quiet approval when she drew blood.

But it wasn't enough. She only whimpered for him—small and meager offerings, hardly enough to wet his appetite, let alone _sate_ the hunger within him.

His head reared back with the grace of a snake—a viper, a cobra. A creature with awesome power and terrifying strength, agility—that was who he was…who he had to be. A creature with a deadly bite and potent, infectious venom.

And she would learn to embrace his poison.

She would learn to _seek_ his bite.

His teeth sunk into the soft, delicate flesh of her neck. The tight clamp of his jaw brought a fast, thick swell of blood to the surface. She would be bruised for at least a week…perhaps longer. All the better for him, of course. His mark would linger on her throat, reminding all just who she belonged to.

But such knowledge only served as mere hors d'oeuvres.

He wanted the _main course_.

And his sweet slave gave it to him.

The most exquisite _**shriek**_ erupted from her dry lips. Her throat had to be shredded from the vocal expulsion…had to be _burning_ with pain. Yes, she had to be in agony, yet her body quaked with evidence of white-hot pleasure.

"I told you I would teach you the ecstasies of pain, my pretty little slave." He whispered, though his voice carried through the air, clear as the screams he was coaxing from her. Her sweet voice sang out each time he pressed his clawed fingers down into her bleeding wounds. All the same, the pain was not yet unbearable, this he knew.

But he would make her _crave_ the pain.

"Feel it now, Iris." He hissed, eyes gleaming yet darkened with the evidence of his own maddening desire, "Feel the pain, feel the agony…cry out for it."

She choked out a whimper. He frowned, displeased but not yet impatient.

"Do not refuse me, Iris." His voice seeped down into her ears, making her tremble. "I ask for so little from you…I have permitted to be locked away, chained within the darkness. But I will not be denied any longer…now give me that which I seek."

Another whimper, followed by a light shake of the head. His scowl deepened, yet he still could not be completely angered. Was this not what he wanted? Was this not what he had first seen in her? Was this not what he _sought_ from her? This beautiful defiance…this deliberate refusal of his commands?

"Do not deny me, Iris." He breathed, "I have earned those screams…I have earned that music from your lips!" his hand wrapped tightly around her jaw, clenching slightly and tugging up slightly, forcing her to look at him. "I have earned your music, now give it to me!"

His hips connected, latching firmly to hers. Her entire body convulsed as she found herself engulfed in flame…this white-hot flame of his desire. He had claimed her for his own, now after such bitter separation. But it had all been worth it…had all come to this moment in time where no one and nothing could take her away from him.

And she sang for him.

His dark angel sang for him, releasing her sweet music for him into the night sky, up into the heavens. She sang her song to heaven, to hell, and to the gods themselves. She sang out for her Master, seeking him to lead her song, to direct her music.

Soon, she would always sing for him.

Soon, she would come to want him.

She would come to _love_ him.

And within his world—despite the chains her world had tried to bind her with—she would belong to him.

Forever.


End file.
